


No One Is Alone

by mysticalmarigold



Series: short fics [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Basically Just Sad, Bittersweet, Fluffy Angst, Found Family, Gen, Not Really A Happy Ending, Other, S8E4 “Goodbye Radar Part 1”, angsty fluff, but sad, i just wanted to write my feels, it’s sweet, loss of a parent, none of these characteristics are canon tbh, sherman potter is a dad, somehwhere in there, this is me projecting onto radar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 18:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20278189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticalmarigold/pseuds/mysticalmarigold
Summary: When the news of Uncle Ed’s death reaches the 4077th MASH, Sherman tries to pick up the pieces for the time being.





	No One Is Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna contact me? Find me on Tumblr @sherman-potter and shoot me an ask! I love to hear from people who like my work!
> 
> this is crap i’m sorry also i was listening to into the woods when i wrote this so that’s where the title comes from

Uncle Ed had died. 

Perished. Passed away, left us, kicked the bucket. Died. 

Radar’s eyes went wide, the smile he had from talking to his mother was wiped off his face. He felt like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. All of the air that he’d just taken in with a gasp was forced out of him. 

“Oh..okay Ma. Love you.”

With a clatter, he threw the phone back into the receiver and clamped his hands over his mouth. He didn’t want the other men to hear him. 

What he couldn’t understand was the anger he was feeling. Why was he angry? It wasn’t Uncle Ed’s fault he died. Nor was it his mother’s. It was nobody’s fault, and he was still angry. He looked up at the ceiling and gritted his teeth, balling his hands into fists and holding them tightly to his chest. 

“Fuck...you...” he snarled with a new severity. His voice was acidic, dripping with a most primal hatred at the lowest volume he could muster. Once the words had escaped his mouth, he could do very little other than let his emotions take over as he cursed the only God he’d ever known. 

“Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! Why are you doing this to me? I don’t deserve this! Ma doesn’t deserve this!” he sobbed, slamming his fists into the tops of his legs too many times before leaning over and putting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped behind his head. Uncle Ed had taught him to do that when he was young and couldn’t control his emotions as well. He used to go ballistic on himself whenever he got too upset, so Uncle Ed would force him to lean over and breathe. Just breathe. Focus on breathing.

His fingernails dug into the nape of his neck as he panted. 

His voice was wavering now, hatred still seething from every word. 

“I will never, ever, forgive you.” he hissed at God. 

“Never in my life.”

His face was hot and he felt like the room was so big and too small at the same time. Placing his head in his hands, Radar let out his final sobs. He was going to make himself sick if he didn’t calm down at least a little. 

After he’d composed himself, he walked out to his desk like it wasn’t a big deal, like he was grown up enough to handle it. He thought everyone believed him. 

*

Sherman couldn’t sleep, not while he knew something was off with Radar. He’d insisted that Sherman go to bed and not bother trying to console him, claiming he was fine and didn’t need any consolation. Potter agreed hesitantly, but he knew he’d be back in his office before 0100 hours, even if it was just to find something to do. 

Pressing against the door to Radar’s dual bedroom and office, he heard a terrible, heaving sob escape the young man on the army cot. His hands were behind his head which was almost between his knees.

“Oh, Radar.” Potter mumbled, letting his hands fall off the door and into his robe’s pockets as he slipped into the dark office. 

He half expected Radar to wipe his face fiercely and put on a stiff upper lip, refusing to let Sherman see him in this state, but he didn’t. Radar didn’t move an inch. He just took in another shuddering breath and cried harder. 

Sherman had platonic instincts and paternal instincts almost all of the time. He constantly fought a battle in his head, never deciding if he was friends with the men and women of the camp or if he was serving as a surrogate father for the time being. 

At this moment, paternity won. 

Sherman sat down on the cot, wrapping an arm around Radar and allowing him to sob into the soft, worn cotton of his robe as he rubbed circles into the child’s back. 

“Breathe, Radar. You have to breathe.”

A sniff and a heart-shattering breath followed his instructions. 

“I know you’re hurting. I know that the world has just about fallen apart around you and there’s nothin’ you can do. I know.”

His voice was not at it’s usual brassy, attention-commanding volume and tone. He’d retired his Colonel voice for the time being, unintentionally opting for a soft drawl that reminded anyone from the Southern USA of their grandparents. His voice brought along thoughts of sweet tea with lemon, fresh hay, and an orange sunset you could drink up to the last drop. 

Even though Radar had never spent more than two weeks out of Iowa, (he had a cousin that he visited in Kentucky once), the voice was familiar and comforting to him. He tried to regulate his breathing as best he could, but he had to let out a few more heaving sobs that made his chest and throat burn like he’d just drank a big swig of Hawkeye’s gin. Sherman didn’t move a muscle, allowing Radar to cling to him for as long as he needed to. 

It took a moment for him to a point where he wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, but hot tears still slipped off his face. Radar sniffed and carefully took the bandanna Colonel Potter had pulled from his pocket and offered. 

“C’mon Radar, I’m too old to be sitting on this Army cot and I need a drink. Let’s mosey on down to my tent.”

Radar didn’t even register what was being said until he was standing in front of Colonel Potter’s tent, gently being moved inside and sat down on the bed. A real, box spring mattress that Colonel Potter had somehow haggled himself into owning. 

Radar sat on the most comfortable bed he’d been in since Tokyo and buried his head in his hands. Sherman poured a small amount of his good single malt scotch into a glass for Radar, and a larger amount for himself. 

He took a seat next to Radar and handed him the glass, sipping his own tiredly. 

“He’s dead.” Radar whispered after a few minutes of silence. 

Sherman nodded solemnly, head tilted down, staring straight into his glass. 

“I never knew anyone who died that I didn’t know for too long. I mean, when Pa died, I was just a baby. I didn’t know what it meant. Same for Charlie, my little brother, even though that hurt a little more because I knew him a little better. But I’ve never known anyone for this long, just ta’ have ‘em die.”

Again, Sherman nodded. 

“This pain is just about the worst thing you can feel.”

Radar uncharacteristically downed the entire glass he’d been messing with and set it on the nightstand. 

“When I lost my father, I was damn sure the sky was going to fall out and drag me down to Hades. I couldn’t imagine a world without ‘im. I was just about as far from home as I could be, this was back in WW one, and only a year or two older than you are now. I spent the night crying with my horse. Her name was Gwendolyn, a real beauty. Pureblood American Quarter Horse, would’a made a fine cutting horse had I gone home with ‘er. But I spent that night in the stables with a friend that I felt knew a lot more than I gave her credit for. I hope I’m helping you as much as she helped me.”

He was gently, absentmindedly nodding as he told his story, and abruptly stopped when he’d finished, looking over at Radar. 

He truly was a sight, brown curls falling in his bloodshot eyes, nose raw and red. The kid, despite it all, gave a small smile. 

“I know you don’t want to hear about an old horse. D’ya wanna talk about it?”

Radar shook his head. 

“I just like sitting with you.”

Sherman nodded with finality and sat with Radar for a good half-hour more, wiping bitter tears away when it got bad again, and thanking God when there seemed to be a lull in the storm of emotions Radar was experiencing. 

After a moment he stood, only to sit back in the cushioned armchair he kept in the corner of his room. 

“Go on and try to sleep. You’ve got a big few days ahead of you, and you need your rest. If you don’t get it, your mind can go all squirrelly on you and make you liable to do things you didn’t think you’d do.”

He was obviously speaking from experience. 

“I didn’t sleep for two days after I got the news about Pa. Just stayed up cryin’ and staring off into the distance. I don’t want that to happen to you.” 

Reluctantly, Radar agreed and slid into the Army-made bed, the cool, clean sheets feeling good against his hot face.

Exhaustion set in, and he was asleep in no more than five minutes. Sherman exhaled. Poor, poor Radar. The world was so unfair. 

Something deep inside Sherman felt a great shame. As much as he wanted the kid to go home and try to live a normal life, his heart ached for the loss of the one source of innocence in the camp. He was a beacon of hope at times, and a cold reminder of what war did to children at others. 

“Sleep well, Radar.” he whispered as he drew the blankets closer to the sleeping Corporal.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna contact me? Find me on Tumblr @sherman-potter and shoot me an ask! I love to hear from people who like my work!


End file.
